“Actually, changed my mind. No chips,” Holly shouted, clearly ignoring Will. “Can you throw some of those pizza bite things into the oven? Do you have time?”
Alex looked into the freezer and then called out, “The pepperoni ones?”
“Please!”
Alex flipped on the oven and worked on dumping the whole box onto the cookie sheet. He wasn’t rushed, because the baseball game had stopped being interesting the moment he found out Matt Tarrington was going to be working the breakfast shift with him.
He couldn’t believe his fucking luck, and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was some sort of joke. Alex didn’t think guys like that even knew the meaning of work. At least not work the way Alex knew it—sweating and stressed, with waitresses bitching you out and a boss harping on you to get the fuck out of the weeds or get a new job.
Matt and his group of friends were the type of guys who got expensive educations and then went straight into fancy corner offices with a kickass view without working their way up from anything. It was little wonder Will hated all those college kids whose parents owned winter houses on the beach. He’d scrimped and saved for his education, losing sleep for the past seven years trying to hold down a job and handle all the schoolwork.
Will bled for something those spoiled brats took for granted, and Matt Tarrington was the richest, most spoiled of them all. His family owned Tarrington department stores. Old southern money, they were highbrowed and uptight, but for some reason they liked Mirabella Island. They’d been coming during the summer for years. After Matt’s father died, his mother took up residence nearly full-time, but Matt was still seasonal. He was usually in that big, intimidating beach estate on extended school breaks, partying it up with the rest of his crowd.
Aside from being outrageously wealthy, Matt also happened to be one of the most handsome men Alex had ever laid eyes on, and Alex considered himself a connoisseur of fine-looking men.
He snorted, trying to imagine the sexy rich boy sweating it out in the trenches of Frank’s café. Matt would likely quit the first day. Not that it mattered. Getting together with him was a pipe dream anyway, but Alex was a good dreamer. He’d been having that particular fantasy since he was old enough to figure out he wasn’t even kind of gay. Alex was 100 percent team cock, and Matt was certainly his kind of conquest.
For the first time ever, Alex had a reason to look forward to work.
* * * *
“Employee parking in the back. Told you that yesterday.”
Matt paused at the front steps of Frank’s café, looking at his new boss with a frown. “No, I’m fairly certain—”
“Move the Porsche, boy,” Frank said before letting the front door close in Matt’s face.
Matt pulled his keys out of his pocket and turned around, deciding to bite his tongue against pointing out Frank did not tell him to park in back, he would’ve remembered. Instead he returned to a pitch-black parking lot. The waves sounded in the distance, and the air was still cool enough to be comfortable. There was an odd peacefulness in getting up before the birds to work at the little seaside café, and despite his new boss being an asshole, Matt was surprisingly excited about this escape from his reality.
He moved his black Porsche behind the café, and parked it next to an old Dumpster with the thought that he might want to start riding a bike to work if this was the only parking available.
He was just getting out of the car when the loud hum of a motorcycle cut through the peaceful morning air. The beam of a single headlight blinded him when the sleek white motorcycle made the turn to the short dirt road behind Frank’s café.
Even with the darkness and the helmet, Matt would recognize Alex Hunter anywhere. His tall, lithe build made up of hard, cut muscles was distinctive, so was his confident presence. He parked next to Matt’s car and crawled off the bike like he was made to ride it.
“Hey, man.” Alex pulled his helmet off and ran a hand through his short hair. Bleached and streaked by the sun it was blonder than the honey brown it was supposed to be. The smile he gave Matt gleamed white under the waning moonlight. “I heard a rumor you’d decided to crawl into the trenches with the rest of us. I thought it was a fucking joke.”
Matt shrugged. “I needed a year off life before I got caught up with all the bullshit in Atlanta.”
“A year off life. Nice.” Alex nodded before he gave Matt a look of hesitance. “And working here is what you decided to do with it?”
“I like to keep busy.”
“Whatever, Tarrington.” Alex walked up and extended his hand. “Been a while. You skipped spring break, and summer’s practically over—didn’t see you hanging with the rest of your crowd.”
Matt shook Alex’s warm, calloused hand. “Last half of the year before graduation was stressful, and I’ve been wrapping up things in Georgia since then. I didn’t have the time.”
“Now you’re gonna apply all your hard-earned education to Frank’s café.” Alex patted his back affectionately. “I’ll never understand you snowbird brats.”
Matt laughed with him. There was something about Alex Hunter that put people at ease. His teasing was always lighthearted and friendly, and his jabs lacked the barbs of other Mirabella locals.
“You need a bike,” Alex offered as he walked to the back door. “You can’t be parking that Porsche back here. Some beach partiers will key it just for the fun of it.”
“You think so?”
“It’s still summer. Every asshole in the world is on the beach.” Alex reached for the knob and pulled up short when the door didn’t open. “What the hell?” He pounded the worn wood with his fist, then kicked it for good measure. “Who locked the fucking—”
“What’re you doing here so early?” Frank barked as he abruptly opened the door. He stared at Alex like he’d grown two heads. “You haven’t come in on time in four years.”
“Will told me you had the new guy on. I figured we’d need extra prep time.” Alex pushed past Frank. “What’s up with you guys locking the door? There’s three of you here. What dickhead put the bar back down?”
“I think he did it for my benefit, not yours,” Matt offered as he followed Alex into the back of the restaurant. “He’s screwing with me.”
“You better watch it, boy,” Frank growled at him. “Or I’ll make sure you’re outta a job before you get started.”
“And rob yourself of the entertainment value y’all think seeing me try to do this job is gonna cause?” Matt snorted in disbelief. “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure I got job security until you’ve gotten your fill.”
“I don’t like your attitude.”
Matt stared at the burly gray-haired man with annoyed disinterest. “The feeling’s mutual.”
“This was definitely worth coming in early for,” Alex announced as he tossed his helmet up on a shelf by the back door. “My brother doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“You’re training him, smart-ass,” Frank countered, his eyes still narrowed at Matt. “It won’t be so entertaining when the first rush hits.”
“Yeah, I noticed you started him on Saturday. Nice of you,” Alex said drily as he walked down the narrow hallway leading to the kitchen. “Come on, Tarrington.”
* * * *
“What do you know how to do?” Alex asked as he started flipping on the various ovens, fryers, flattops, and hoods over the stove. “Do you have any skills that’ll be of value to me for the Saturday rush? We usually have two
real
cooks on the weekends. Unfortunately, this little joke Frank is playing now involves me, and unlike you, I need this job. I can’t tell him off for it.”
“That guy is a total prick,” Matt said with a frown. “You need a better job than this.”
“You let me know when another line cook position opens up, and I’ll be sure to apply for it,” Alex said while walking to the refrigerator.
“What about all the restaurants on Bay Boulevard?”
“You need real culinary training for that.” Alex placed a large box of eggs on the deck. “Which I don’t got.”
“Why not try college?”
“I can’t afford school, and even if I could—no thanks. I’ve watched my brother stress over that shit for seven years.”
“So you’re just gonna do this”—Matt looked around the kitchen uncomfortably—“for the rest of your life?”
“The world needs line cooks too,” Alex said without an ounce of shame. “You never told me what good you are to me.”
Matt watched Alex work on gathering the rest of his supplies, walking over to the industrial-sized refrigerator and coming back with stacks of silver trays covered in cellophane.
When Alex gave him a look, making it obvious he was still waiting for an answer, Matt shrugged. “I work good under pressure. I take direction well.”
“Cooking skills?” Alex asked, sounding doubtful. “Is there
anything
you know how to do in a kitchen?”
“No.” Matt winced. “But I’m a fast learner.”
“Great.” Alex sighed. “Frank
was
fucking with you by hiring you. You’re about to be the story he tells every employee at the Christmas party.”
“I can do this,” Matt said confidently. “You show me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Okay, then, if you’re interested in actually learning this shit job, I’ll help you.” Alex sounded oddly determined as he worked at washing his hands. “We just need a game plan. First we’ll worry about prep, and then we’ll deal with breakfast. No sense in stressing about shit that hasn’t happened yet.”
Matt nodded and pushed the sleeves of his T-shirt higher up on his biceps. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”
“I’m gonna have you cutting all the tomatoes, peppers, and onions for the omelets. Even if you fuck it up, no one will really notice.” Alex grabbed a tomato out of a box in the corner and brought it to a cutting board on the counter. He reached for a knife hanging on a magnetized rack on the wall that sported all shapes and sizes of cut ware. “We’re dicing. Watch how I do it.”
Alex diced a tomato, then an onion and a pepper. He gave valuable suggestions. Keep your fingers tucked in. Cut away from your body. Make sure your knife is sharp. Don’t slice your finger off.
While Matt’s knife didn’t fly through the produce like Alex’s did, he thought he was picking it up fast once he got started. Alex assured him he was going slow as balls, but he didn’t seem annoyed by it. He’d just look over at the small, colorful stacks and then work quicker at whatever he was doing.
While Matt labored on his project, Alex had started cooking a huge stack of home fries on the flattop, had biscuits in one oven, and large sheets of bacon in the other. All the while he worked on setting up the kitchen. Some metal containers went in warmers, others went in a portable cooler station. Frank’s went through a shitload of cellophane because all the leftover food was covered from the night before and reused. Matt might have been nervous about it if he didn’t see Alex inspect all of it and toss whatever he felt was bad.
Alex was in the process of this check-and-balance system when Frank walked in back, looking over to Matt cutting tomatoes and shaking his head before he turned back to Alex. “All that shit is good, Hunter. Don’t start fucking up my food cost again. You and Will think I’m made of money.”
“Hey, man, whatever,” Alex said without remorse as he placed a tray of gray looking country gravy in the warmer. “You’re the boss.”
When Frank walked out, Alex made a disgusted sound and then proceeded to pull the gravy tray out of the warmer and dump the contents in the trash. “There’s your fucking food cost.”
“That shit’s gray.” Matt let out a horrified laugh. “I can’t believe he’d serve it.”
“He’d poison someone to save a buck. Mike and Jimmy closed last night, worthless bastards. It’s never like this when Will closes. The one benefit to having a neat freak for a brother—the kitchen’s denastified the next morning.” Alex turned around and gave him a smile. He looked at Matt’s progress and announced. “I think you’re done. Now we’re gonna get you set up on breads.”
“Breads?”
“Yeah, you’re making toast.” Alex gestured to a stack of bread in the corner. “You’re going to read the tickets, see what type of bread they’re having, and plate it before it goes out. I’ll go over all the ticket abbreviations with you while you’re setting up, because I need you to be double-checking everything if I’m gonna be cooking solo.”
Alex handed him an order pad and found a pencil. Then he proceeded to spout off the entire answer key for the waitresses’ tickets. Matt didn’t have the heart to tell him he wouldn’t know the difference between OM or OE. He had no idea what over-easy eggs were supposed to look like in comparison to over medium. Matt hadn’t realized people were so fucking intense about the state of their egg yolks, but they were.
He learned that real fast once they opened and the orders started coming in.
Matt had done a lot of difficult shit in his life and dealt with countless stressful situations, but making toast and checking the plates for the diners of Frank’s café on a Saturday was easily the most nerve-wracking thing he’d ever encountered.
“It’s not you; it’s the fucking toaster.” Alex turned from the grill when Matt cursed at the stupid contraption for burning an English muffin. He grabbed the burned bread despite it being steaming hot and threw it in the garbage. “He’s too cheap to get one that works.”
Alex worked with the dials on the side, because this wasn’t an ordinary toaster. It was a tiny conveyer belt that delivered the toast in approximately five minutes, which when timed correctly, was supposed to go on the plate Alex put on the deck, but everything about today was going wrong. The only thing that machine delivered when Matt worked it was all blackened past the point of being edible.
“Alex, it’s been twenty-five minutes,” said Melissa, a pretty redhead who was inspecting the deck that had plates lined across it. “Table two is about to leave.”
“Tell them to suck me.” Alex looked up from the toaster to glare at Melissa. “You see me sweating back here? Talk to Frank if you’re pissed off about the ticket times.”
“Okay.” Melissa held up her hands with shock on her face, making it obvious Alex didn’t lose his temper often. “Bad day, I get it.”